New Year's Resolutions
by Sirabella
Summary: Hotch realizes Elle plans to spend Christmas alone and makes sure her plans change. But she thinks four's a crowd.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The timeline on this is wacky, I know. It's after Unfinished Business, but before whichever episode had Gideon calling his son, and it might have some things thrown in from Fisher King. Just trying to make a good story here, not randomly throw the show's storyline out the window. So just bear with me, ok? And don't ask me why I felt the need to write a Christmas story in October. There is no reasonable answer to that question. Or to the one about starting another story before I finish the other FIVE unfinished ones. So don't ask :D

Hotch looked hopefully up at the clock on his office wall. And breathed a sigh of relief. The BAU was now officially on Christmas vacation. For 35 hours. At this point, though, whatever he could get was a welcome reprieve. Now if only the serial killers, rapists and kidnappers would send him a signed guarantee that they'd take Christmas off, too. So far, though, no new cases had landed on his desk, and he was damn well going to disappear before they had the chance. He locked up his office in record time, being sure to stick his head out the door first and look both ways down the corridor. He wanted to have a chance to run if he saw J.J. coming.

He heard snickers from the floor below and peeked over the railing to see Elle and Morgan laughing at him.

"Hey, Hotch!" Morgan shouted, gleefully ignoring his fellow agent's imploring quieting motions. "Why don't you take the service elevator? She'll never find you there."

"Morgan..." Hotch shook his head wearily. "Don't you want a vacation? Don't you want to spend Christmas with..." He stopped himself, remembering to whom he was speaking. "Someone special?" he finished lamely.

Morgan grinned. "Oh, don't worry about me, my friend. I've got plans."

"I'll bet," Hotch muttered. "Don't tell me," he interrupted, as Morgan opened his mouth to do just that. "I don't want to know." He was just about to make a dash for the elevators when he noticed that although Morgan was packing his things with a look of extremely recognizable expectation in his eyes, and Reid's desk was already empty, Elle was dawdling in her own workspace, arranging papers, occasionally making an obligatory motion to throw something in her bag, even several folders that looked suspiciously official. He waited for Morgan to make his cheery exit before he approached her. "Elle?"

"Oh, hey, Hotch, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas. What are your holiday plans?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, you know. Wait for Santa to come down the chimney." She smiled casually, but Hotch almost rolled his eyes. They hadn't made him head of the BAU because he looked good in a suit.

"Elle, you're just going to bring paperwork home, aren't you?" His expression sobered as their conversation about Max Ryan floated back into his mind. "You can't spend Christmas alone."

Elle shrugged. "It's a lot easier to spend holidays with your family when you have some." She smiled at his crestfallen expression. "Don't go feeling sorry for me. I'm used to it. Maybe a little quiet time is a good thing once in a while...keeps us all sane. Have a nice holiday, Hotch; I'll see you later. A book, a glass of wine and my fireplace are waiting for me."

He caught hold of her arm as she tried to pass. "Not so fast. You're coming with me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she laughed. "You're going to spend Christmas with your wife and son. And I'm going home."

"No, you're not. Hang on," he insisted over her protests, holding fast to her arm with one hand while he found his phone with the other. He foiled Elle's struggles and waited for Haley's voice on the other end.

"Aaron! When are you coming home?"

"Right now, actually. I can't wait, either. But listen, Haley, there's something I need to ask you. Elle, stop it! No, not you, honey. I've got Elle captive here. I found her racing home to an empty house. She can spend Christmas with us, right?" He knew he was treading on _very_ thin ice; Haley had been looking forward to some time together as a family. But if he knew his wife, she wouldn't want Elle whiling away the holiday with paperwork, either. He wasn't disappointed. After a short, pensive silence, Haley spoke warmly.

"Yes, of course, that's fine. We've got plenty of extra food, anyway. Just hurry home."

"Will do. Thanks, Haley." He hung up and looked Elle in the eye triumphantly. "There, you see? Now, come on, and don't make me drag you to the car."

"You're both insane," she murmured. "This is going to be all kinds of awkward. But it's on your head. And I appreciate it," she admitted with a grateful smile that only confirmed for Hotch what he had basically known all along: that she was lonely. He made a mental note for a New Year's resolution to take better care of her. His team was his second family, after all, and although he shared the role of pater familias with Gideon, his friend had his hands full with Reid. If Hotch were inclined to charge for his psychoanalytic services, he could retire on what he'd earn trying to convince Gideon of the truth: that he was using Reid as a replacement for a son who wanted nothing to do with him. Morgan, J.J., Garcia...they really needed nothing other than leadership. But Elle and Reid were both hurting, damaged...the kind of people naturally drawn to the power of law enforcement and psychological profiling.

Gideon had gotten somewhere with Elle, that was very clear, but Hotch could also see the limits to their relationship. He was always trying to teach, to guide, she to question and tease him, even rebel against the order of his universe by calling him "Dad" in jest. She was like a teenage daughter, with her grudging respect for him and her headstrong conviction that she was smart enough, strong enough, without him. Hotch also knew where this came from; he had read her file, of course, when she had first joined the unit. If she hadn't been able to convince herself that she needed neither father nor teacher, she probably wouldn't be here now, he thought sadly.

All this ran through his head as he led Elle to his car and opened the door for her, and it ended in a concerned frown as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Minutes passed before he realized that Elle was staring at him. "Do you always drive and daydream?" His mystification was his obvious answer. "I only ask because you're about to take the exit back downtown," she deadpanned, laughing when he accordingly swerved back into the correct lane with a startled oath. "What's up with you?"

"Just thinking," he said softly.

"Obviously. What planet were you on, anyway?"

He looked at her for a moment before he spoke, turning back to the road. "The one where you make a New Year's resolution and keep it."

"I know that one...in a galaxy far, far away."

Hotch smiled ruefully. "I hope not." He didn't elaborate, Elle's penetrating looks notwithstanding, and she eventually gave up. The rest of the ride was spent in silence, watching the lights of D.C. eventually give way to the occasional streetlights and winding roads of the suburbs.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I just realized that I placed the BAU office in the city rather than in Quantico, VA. Oops. But here's how I fix it: let's just assume that Hotch has to drive through the city, or rather, around it on the Beltway, to get to wherever he lives in Maryland. Ok? Problem solved. (I live in D.C. You'd be amazed, some of you, at the commutes people take to work. This is not so farfetched.)  
P.S. Note to the writers: name that kid already! It's hard to write around something like that :D

Elle hung back as Haley met them in the front hall, looking like the perfect housewife with the baby in her arms and flour all over her face. She kissed her husband and, to her credit, offered her hand to Elle with no hesitation whatsoever. They both laughed when Elle pulled away with a white, powdery sleeve. Haley apologized. "Then again, you might as well get used to it for now. Nothing's clean in this house anymore anyway, at least, not for more than 5 minutes." She waited for Hotch to deposit coats and briefcases in the closet before she handed him the baby. "Why don't you make yourselves comfortable? I have to finish baking, and it'll be much easier without having to watch him."

"Or constantly having to keep him from eating the dough," Hotch added.

Haley laughed. "That too. Why don't you fix the drinks, Aaron, and I'll see you in a couple of minutes when I've got this in the oven."

Elle followed Hotch into the living room. "She reminds me of my mother," she remarked. "Not to start channeling Reid, but when Virginia Woolf wrote about the 'Angel of the House,' she could have been talking about Haley."

"Refresh my memory?"

"The one who makes the house a sanctuary," Elle explained. "The woman who is the all-purpose head of the household, mother, wife, housekeeper, confidante...she keeps everything running smoothly and does most of it unseen and unthanked. And you don't notice just how much she does until she's gone."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "The perfect woman?"

Elle tossed him a suspicious sideways glance. "Something like that."

'Ouch,' he thought. 'Brick wall.' He decided to go for the liquor cabinet after all. Elle looked up in alarm as he began to lower the baby into her arms.

"Hey, what...wait a minute!" Hotch smiled and held her hands in place as she began to panic.

"Trust me, he isn't as fragile as he looks." He gently moved her hands until her hold on the little boy was steady. They both watched in surprise as tiny fingers flailed up and caught in Elle's hair, tangling themselves securely in the smooth curls.

Hotch winced in sympathy, but Elle was smiling. "Yeah, I see that."

Haley's laugh sounded from the doorway. "My grandmother always said that she never cut her hair when her children were small—because she knew when a child held on like that, she was needed." Elle gently took the little fist and eased it out of her hair, letting it wrap around her finger instead, and Hotch shared a grateful smile with his wife; Elle looked completely at ease. Haley noticed it, too. As Hotch joined her in the doorway, she whispered: "She looks peaceful, doesn't she? And happy. I'm glad; I couldn't stand that look as if she were constantly worrying about something." Hotch nodded; he knew that haunted look of Elle's all too well.

Haley retreated once more to the kitchen, and Hotch reclaimed his seat next to Elle, setting her glass down in front of her. He watched her for a few minutes in silence; he never grew tired of the effortless way in which women seemed to be able to communicate with babies. "I never wanted to be a mother," she spoke up suddenly. As if in contradiction, her attention was still fixed on the baby's face. "At least, I was always convinced I'd never be ready, and I never wanted to question that. People told me, 'oh, you'll feel differently when you hold your child in your arms.' But I never wanted to find out that way, you know?" She met his eyes, and she relaxed when she saw that, yes, he knew. "Every child should be wanted...and cared for the way a mother should care for her child." This statement seemed perfectly innocuous and self-explanatory on its surface...unless you knew Elle, which Hotch flattered himself he did, pretty well by now.

"You know, children see so much. We discount their observations because we don't think much of their judgment; they don't have the experience to evaluate things properly. But a parent's love, or the lack of it...they know when they have it and when they don't. And they need very few years to develop that insight. More important to a kid than hearing the words...is that feeling of being perfectly _safe_, because Mom and Dad are there...and they wouldn't let anything bad happen." He paused for a moment. To get his voice under control, they both knew, but Elle said nothing. Later, maybe. "I haven't noticed anything that would suggest you're incapable of generating that feeling in a child, Elle. Why do you think I drag you along to all the interviews of victims and families? I don't need you to ask the questions; I know them all. I need you to make them feel as if everything they say is sacrosanct, as if they're talking to a sister or a neighbor instead of the FBI. And you do that, so well it even convinces me sometimes."

Elle bristled at the word 'convinces.' "It isn't an act," she objected. "Their pain gets to me, makes me want to fight for them and find their justice."

Hotch smiled. "Q.E.D."

Elle sighed. Losing an argument to Hotch was somehow less annoying than winning one, which never even made him mad. His little bit of gloating was, at the very least, pretty normal. "I guess that just doesn't feel good enough."

"Take it where you find it," was his advice. "You can't wait for the whole world to drop into your lap."

"But a child deserves more..." She never got to finish the sentence. Hotch's voice when he interrupted was harsh and unfamiliar.

"You don't need to tell me what a child deserves." He bit his lip and continued in a very soft voice. "Trust me, Elle, when it comes to an evaluation of people as parents, you'd rate pretty far onto the good side of the ledger."

She couldn't not ask. "On what scale?" He didn't seem upset at the question, only at the prospect of answering. Fear and vulnerability didn't suit him, though; now she felt sorry she'd asked. She returned to cuddling the baby, feeling better in thinking that whatever it was, it hadn't stopped Hotch from becoming a father, and a marvelous one. Maybe a little absent, but that couldn't be helped, and he made up for it a thousand times over when he was around. It was funny; she was excusing a little fault in Hotch's parenting career but stretching out one of her own (potential) ones exponentially. But you couldn't become a parent on the basis of expectations about the things a child would bring to your life; that was backwards.

All of these things ran through her head as Hotch sat there, hesitating; she almost forgot he was contemplating saying anything at all. Haley reappeared, looking bemused at the spectacle of the two of them sitting in silence. "Dinner's ready."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, people! They make me happy. And yay, the kid has a name. But…! All that agonizing and arguing, all that time spent, and they come up with _Jack_?? Losers :) Some people were wondering where this story is going; I have to say, I haven't got a clue. Let's just see what happens, shall we?

In spite of Haley's persistent efforts to include her in the conversation, Elle spent most of the meal just watching and listening. Hotch was a different man entirely from the stoic, efficient leader he became when he stepped into the BAU conference room, or onto the plane. This was the husband and father that usually lay buried under the suit and tie, and Elle was fascinated by the metamorphosis -- and a little hurt. After all, no matter how much he seemed to trust and rely on her in the field, she had never seen him like this, with his guard down. Hotch caught her eye, apparently having noticed her study of him, and she could have pinpointed with a stopwatch the exact second when the wariness started to rise in him again, closing off his expression. She quickly stood up, clumsily excusing herself and locking herself in the bathroom. 'Great job, Greenaway,' she thought to herself. 'Now they _both_ think you're a few crayons short of a box.' She wished she hadn't come. She wished she'd made a more persistent bid for freedom, dashed for the elevators before Hotch had had a chance to stonewall her. But more than anything, she wished she belonged here. The hard-nosed 007 clone with all of three facial expressions was her Hotch. She was a stranger in this house.

Elle was washing her face for the second time when she heard a cautious knock. "You're missing dessert" came softly through the door. She winced at the strange sound of hesitancy in his voice and quickly pressed the towel to her face, then waited a few moments before answering him.

"I'll be right there." She took a few moments to reapply her make-up, knowing as she did so that he would notice how purposefully constructed this appearance was. But that was all right; she had no intention of going into any of it with him. She'd confided too much already, and he had said all the right things, with unimpeachable sincerity and a task-oriented, matter-of-fact kind of logic that, in retrospect, seemed unbearably patronizing. 'He sounded like a psychology textbook,' she thought bitterly. 'He can't enjoy a vacation from work because he brought work home with him.' She abruptly pulled herself together -- if she didn't come out of the bathroom soon, staying inside and putting down roots might be preferable to explaining herself on the other side.

She crept back to the dining room and peeked around the doorframe. Hotch and Haley were trying to feed Jack, with limited success; his mouth was set in stubborn lines, and although Hotch tickled him to get him to open up, he wasn't having any of it. Elle smiled; she recognized that mulish frown of refusal. The same thing had obviously occurred to Haley, who laughed and said: "He really is your son, isn't he?"

"Did you doubt it?" he teased her.

"Never." Elle ducked back behind the door as they kissed. Some moments believed to be private should actually be so, she thought with self-disdain. This was ridiculous. Why did she feel so unwelcome when neither one of them had done anything to suggest that they felt that way? She was about to announce her presence when she heard her name.

"Do you think Elle is alright?" Haley's voice.

"I'll go check on her again," Hotch suggested. She heard him getting to his feet and hurriedly entered before he could discover her hiding in the doorway.

"I'm ok," she answered smoothly, ignoring the dual concerned stares. "Just ate too much. I really couldn't help it, everything was so good." Haley offered her some coffee, and the tension lifted. Elle focused on her cup, feeling the steam rise to her face, trying to ignore the occasional subtle shifts of Hotch's eyes in her direction. She felt a terrible, irrational anger leap up in her chest. Couldn't she keep some secrets? Couldn't she have just a few moments alone? The truth was, though, she didn't want to be alone, and he knew it, and that pissed her off, too. The feeling vanished, buried instantly by fiendish glee. Hotch was so busy, both watching her and telling Haley about some stunt of Reid's, that his son's latest artistic endeavor, Mashed Peas on Armani Shirt, was entirely escaping his notice. When Jack's little fingers grabbed hold of the end of Hotch's tie and started using it as a paintbrush, Elle burst out laughing. Hotch stared at her in amazement, looking even more puzzled when she pointed a finger at him. "Look down," she giggled. He did so. Jack made a happy gurgling noise.

Hotch narrowed his eyes at his wife, playfully accusing. "Did you see him doing that?"

Through her helpless laughter, Haley managed a few words. "Too...good...to...stop..."

"He's really got something there," Elle said, finally regaining control of herself. "In twenty years or so that shirt will be worth a fortune."

"It already was," Hotch muttered, vainly trying to scrape off some of the mess with his napkin. It was only making things worse. The baby continued to coo in self-satisfaction. "That's coming out of your college fund, young man," Hotch remarked, stroking his finger down a pudgy cheek. Jack affectionately returned the gesture, marking his father's face as his new canvas. The women dissolved in a renewed fit of hilarity. It was worth it, Hotch thought, smiling in spite of himself at the dancing spark in Elle's eyes. Ten times over. Finally, Haley pulled herself together and out of her chair.

"Aaron, I'll give him a bath, you should go change."

Elle waited, back on the couch, listening to the sounds of eager splashing, raising her eyes again as Hotch reappeared. Or something that vaguely looked like Hotch. It was his face, but for some reason she was seeing a T-shirt and loosely-fitting jeans where a suit should be. It was like holding up the wrong cut-out wardrobe on a paper doll. True, he didn't look half bad, but that wasn't the point; it was just so foreign. She felt off-balance as he claimed the seat next to her on the sofa, so she was caught off her guard when he spoke. "He's a handful. Wouldn't trade him for all the well-behaved kids in the world, though."

"You're good with him," Elle heard herself saying, and the flat tone caused Hotch's eyebrows to draw together the way they did when he was thinking hard. Elle could practically see the gears spinning in his eyes. She sighed. When he'd walked in the room in those oddly casual clothes, she'd begun to hope for a few minutes of the comfortable, uncomplicated Aaron Hotchner she'd glimpsed at the dinner table, but no—with her, this man was simply SSA Hotchner; everything else was an illusion, just like always. To her horror, tears pooled immediately, ready to spill.

"Elle?" No, she couldn't look at him, she really couldn't. Not that she was trying to. She was too busy trying to stop her body from shaking, keep the tears from turning into goddamn Niagara Falls, and she was failing badly on both counts. She raged at herself when a choked noise escaped her in spite of all she could do, and then everything was out of her hands because she was full-on _crying_ and Hotch was dragging her into him. She wished it could be all the way in, somewhere she could be small enough to hide forever, and she'd never have to look him in the face again.

These few minutes would have to suffice. Even through her sobs, her white-knuckled fists clenched in his shirt on either side of her burrowing face, it helped to know that Hotch was holding her tightly on pure instinct, on the strength of his fierce, protective nurturing tendencies, no duty, no _strategy_, just... healing. Of course, it was a different story when the storm subsided and she levered herself up and off of him, scouring her face with the backs of her hands and trying not to watch him watching her. That was alright; she was prepared now for any degree of scrutiny, although she still couldn't entirely repress the urge to vanish. He was just going to sit there and look at her until she said something. "I told you you'd regret this," she whispered.

Hotch blinked in surprise. She wasn't just referring to her presence in his house. She meant all of it. She meant the way he'd called her every other day for weeks after her shooting, determined to wall her off from any lurking threats. How she had had to fight him to get back on the job even when she knew she was ready. The way he still watched her like a hawk whenever they partnered up on a case, although he'd tried his best to be subtle about it. And the manner in which he'd brought her home tonight, like someone toting a lost puppy in out of the cold. Of course she must resent it sometimes, he thought. He really couldn't help it, though. "I don't," he murmured.

Elle laughed bitterly. "I don't remember volunteering for this mother hen project of yours," she snapped.

"You don't get a vote," he said calmly. "And that won't work."

He'd knocked her off her feet again. Damn. "What?"

"Pushing me away. It's not going to happen."

Elle instantly deflated into self-pity. "What's wrong with me? What are you trying so hard to fix?"

Hotch softened marginally. "You tell me."

She gave him a wry grin. "Why should I make it easy for you?"

"Well, assuming you want me off your back—"

"Never assume anything," she muttered. "Don't they teach you that in basic training?"

Now Hotch was the one caught wrong-footed. "Elle...tell me what I'm doing wrong. Please."

That hit too close to the mark. Elle's eyes widened. Lie! she screamed at herself. Lie like a rug. "I'm just not used to all this," she offered. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time."

"That doesn't explain why none of it seems to be working," he pointed out. "I'm just trying—"

"Yes, you're trying so hard to get through to your stubborn wild card of an agent – who doesn't need a babysitter! Why? What are you so afraid I'll do? What do you want from me, Hotch?"

Hotch felt a sickening sliver of realization slice through him. He was getting to the heart of things now; no turning back. "You think I have some hidden agenda? That I'm trying to figure out how to be ready for some kind of disaster?"

"Maybe." She needed this to stop, now, but she didn't know how to effectively change the subject.

"No, that's not it. And in case you're wondering, no, this isn't in my job description." Bulls-eye, he thought miserably. Elle's head flew up in pained shock, as if the bullet so recently removed were making a re-entry into her chest. "My God, Elle...you think that in my head this is some kind of professional obligation?" He reached out and grasped her shoulders hard, forcing her to look at him. "Ok, let me make this simple for you. I care about you. I want to be your friend. And yes, I feel guilty for neglecting you; you nearly died on my watch. I'm not going to let it happen again, and not because of the paperwork involved in replacing you! I don't want to lose you. Not to a psychopath, not to my own carelessness, and not to this. You're too important, do you understand me?"

Tears were threatening again, but she refused to collapse this time under their weight. "You can't make this a one-way street and then say you care about me," she groused. "I watched you...with Haley, with Jack. Every time you looked at me, I could see you closing off."

Hotch winced, lowering his hands to her elbows. "I suppose we both have destructive instincts masquerading as survival tactics," he admitted. "I went through all of that with Haley, too, a long time ago. It helped that we were both very young at the time; there was a lot of room for change. I'll make the same deal with you: don't give up, keep calling me on it, let me take care of you, and I promise I will try harder to show the trust I have in you."

Elle sat apparently deep in thought, ignoring the tears that were slowly trailing off. "I don't suppose you could quit hovering and we could just call it even?"

He smiled. "Afraid not."

"Ok, then"—heaving a big, exaggerated sigh—"you've got a deal."

"Thank heaven for that!" Haley exclaimed, stepping out from behind the door. "Now, since it's Christmas, let's start celebrating. Aaron, will you open this champagne for me? I think it's stuck."


End file.
